Parts
by JACmRob
Summary: The second she heard it on the news she called her dad, and started sobbing when she found him safe." Collection of LwD oneshots. Chpt. 7 up! Random pairings, mostly dasey. Lots of angst.
1. Perspective

**Parts**

Random oneshots as a way to do something with all the ideas I have swimming around in my head that I don't have time to complete. Hope you like them!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Perspective

When his bangs fall in his face he blows up at them so that his mouth twists into a pout

He only drinks his coffee out of his Oilers mug. Decaf, no cream, two sugars.

He won't wear red on Wednesdays. He doesn't wear it often anyway, he says it's unlucky.

When he's nervous he bites his lip. People usually don't notice—the "famous Derek Venturi" doesn't get nervous—but I always can tell.

He has this OCD habit where before each of his hockey games he has to hang upsides down from the couch and listen to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana three times. If someone interrupts him, or talks to him, he has to start the whole ritual over. It drives George crazy, but I think it's cute.

He's really superstitious—he walked around with a rabbit's foot and a four-leafed clover all day on Friday the Thirteenth.

He has freckles across his nose, but only if you look really closely.

His eyes look brown from far away, but when you get closer you can see they're actually green. Somehow my heart always speeds up when I'm close enough to see.

When he's daydreaming in class, his head always tilts onto his right shoulder—never his left—and he stares off towards the front of the classroom. He always sits in the back. Sometimes, if I squint really hard, I think he's looking at me.

--

When she's really flustered, her voice gets all high and fast, so you can barely understand what she's saying.

She gets so overly excited about getting us into the spirit for lame holidays, like Father's Day or the Fourth of July, where there aren't presents involved.

She can never remember where she put her keys, even though they're always on the hook by the door. I let her sprint around the house in a panic for a couple of minutes before I remind her where they are.

When she's really annoyed at me, she separates my name into two elongated syllables. But I can always tell when she's actually mad at me because she uses my full name.

I love how she looks when she just wakes up in the morning, bleary eyed with messy hair, and so out of it that she doesn't notice I'm staring at her.

She never stops attempting to organize our household even after the countless failed attempts to create order.

Whenever she suddenly gets an idea, her mouth gets really wide and she does this little half skip, half jump kind of jerk before she runs off without telling anyone what it is.

She makes herself a bagel every morning but only eats one half, and then just one bite of the other.

She's a really good dancer. Not that I hide and watch when she practices, or anything.

She has a birthmark just above her left cheek bone.

When she daydreams in class she has this little habit where she twirls a strand of her hair around her finger and stares off into space. Sometimes I like to imagine she's staring at me.

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My first drabble. Hope it isn't too cheesy. Review!

--JR


	2. Coveted

**Coveted**

"You had to take him! Why? Why would you take him?"  
She looked at her feet, unable to think of anything to say or any possible words that would ease the burning guilt that coursed through her body. Instead, she kept silent.

"Why did you think I was always around here? For _you_?!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but was once again at a loss for words. Taking a gulp of air she exhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

_Crash_. Her entire collection of CDs shattered to the ground, their covers cracking to form a bed of shards. _Crash_. The contents of her desk spun through the air and scattered across the floor. She took another trembling breath.

"All you do is _take_! And I've been here for years and years just _giving_ and getting nothing in return! And I thought—" There was a quaking laugh. "—I thought for the first time that since he stopped dating I was finally—"

She turned away, wanting just to leave, to hear anything but _this_. She wanted to stop her heart from breaking when it had been full for the first time.

"I find he's been screwing his stepsister behind everyone's back!"

She opened her eyes, facing the shaking figure in front of her.

"I _love_ him Casey." It came out as barely more than a whisper, but was laced with bitterness and anger and _hatred_…

Finally, she was able to speak. The moment she did, she felt her words burn like acid, and wished she could take them back, or just stop taking altogether.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I love him too."

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Number 2. I don't really know where the idea for this one came from, very angsty. Oh well, tell me if you like.

--JR


	3. Choosing

**Choosing**

"Scooby Doo."

"_Never_. Harry Potter?"

"Not happening. Those movies _destroyed_ the books. Finding Nemo."

"Um…_ew_. That's Casey and Derek's makeout movie!"

"Come on! Who can resist that cute little fish trying to save his kid?"

"Someone who every time she watches it pictures _your_ brother's tongue down _my_ sister's throat."

"Fine. Nix on Nemo."

"How about The Exorcist?"

"Lame…"

"Says the kid I'll find at two in the morning with the lights on, shaking and whispering 'there's no such thing as demons' to Sir-Monks-A-Lot."

"Oh haha, very funny. It was Princess Peneolope."

"Alright, no horror. How about comedy?"

"Okay… Napolean Dynamite!"

"Not funny, will never be funny…"

"Meet the Fockers?"

"Mmmm… What about Wedding Crashers?"

"_For the eighteenth time?"_

"Okay 27 Dresses."

"Just because you're obsessed with Grey's Anatomy does not automatically make any movie their actors appear in good. And that means no for Enchanted."

"I wasn't going to suggest that! …It was Made of Honor."

"You know what, we're never going to decide on a movie we both like."

"Wait! Don't go! Alright we can watch Finding Nemo and I'll just try and look past the visions of Casey and Derek all over eachother!"

"_Yes!"_

"Wait a second… You _planned_ that!"

"So what if I did. We agreed on Finding Nemo."

"Well agree on me not being part 'movie night'!"

"Stop! Okay, Katherine Heigl ogling some guy for two hours!"

"Gotcha back."

"Wha…? Fine. Well, we're still nowhere."

"How about… Happy Feet?"

"Happy Feet?"

"Happy Feet."

"Alright, we have reached a verdict. Dancing penguins it is."

Lizzie inserted the disc into the DVD player before settling comfortably on the couch next to Edwin.

"You know, I bet I could dance like that if—"

Lizzie placed his lips over his, cutting him off.

"Or not," he muttered, leaning in for another kiss.

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This was really pretty random...lizwin with a smidge of dasey

Just a drabbley thing

Comments?

--JR


	4. Nuclear

**Nuclear**

"Hey."

She sat down next to him on the couch. He barely turned, gave a grunt, and continued staring at the tv ahead.

"What's the score?" she offered, settling in next to him. She felt him stiffen.

"We're losing."

"Oh."

A pause.

"Unrequited love sucks."

"Yep," he replied with a grimace, stretching his feet out across the coffee table. He didn't bother asking her who she was thinking about, and she didn't press him either. They just sat in silence together, finding a small bit of comfort in the other's misery.

The scene was interrupted by the front door being flung open.

"Ugh I had the _worst_ day." Slam. Emily jumped off the couch.

"H-hey Case." She glanced up quickly to see a swish of brown hair as Casey threw her bag on to the ground. Emily made a strange, jerky motion, not even knowing what she was intending, and felt her face redden. She grabbed her jacket and muttered, "I'll see you 'round, Derek," before heading out the door.

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Casey jumped down on to the couch next to him. In an instant she was off, into a long winded rant about her problems with Amy and the cheerleading squad and how she'd worried so much she got a B on her English project… Derek soon lost track of the story line, staring absentmindedly at the door, where Emily had just stood with her brown hair shining, her warm chocolate eyes looking at him…

"Derek are you even listening?"

He started. "Mmhmm…" he mumbled, "go on…" In another second she jumped right back into her story and his thoughts landed back on Emily. Unrequited love did suck.

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Emily trudged back to her house, her thoughts still on her last encounter. Why did she always have to freeze up when around the object of her affections? It didn't matter anyway, she countered, she'd never be seen as anything more than a friend. Emily had learned to cherish any passing moment, because it was probably as much as she would ever get.

She was hopeless and she knew it, and it hurt even more when she had to joke and smile, pretend she wasn't staring… But Casey wouldn't ever see her the way Emily saw her. Too bad those big, blue eyes were always staring at someone else…

* * *

Casey stared at the boy next to her, not even knowing what was rambling from her mouth, and just wishing he'd look back at her. He didn't even seem to be paying attention. He never did.

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A/N: casey/derek/emily love triangle. couldn't resist. review sweeties!

Ps. sorry I havn't updated in a while... busy

-JR


	5. Forever

**Forever**

He walked in line with the pavement, taking slow strides. Fear gripped him, and he felt the familiar twinge of nerves in the pit of his stomach. His heart was pounding. He looked down at the flower in his hand, a single rose, and immediately regretted buying it. He shouldn't be doing this.

He turned onto a dirt pathway. Stopping to look at the sky, he saw above him dark clouds were gathering, ready to rain. He resumed walking. He caught sight of her, standing aloof and unobserved. Her eyes met his, waiting. Slowly, agonizingly, he walked up to her.

"Hey," he said softly. She didn't respond.

"Sorry it's taken me a while," he continued, "I know you wanted to talk to me. And I wanted to come. I guess I was just…scared."

He shrugged ruefully. "That's right, you can document it as proof—I bet you never thought you'd hear me say it." He gave a wry smile. She remained impassive before him.

"The truth is… I need you. More than I've ever needed anyone in my life. If I said you were my world I wouldn't be kidding. I love the way you can light up a room, and everyone in it. Your smile is contagious, even to me, grumpy and uncaring.

"Because I do care. Probably a lot more than you know. So now I'm telling you, so that you _do_ know."

He looked back up at her, so silent. How could she be silent? She was never silent, never colorless.

"I love you, Smarti."

He threw the rose onto the grave, turned and walked away. Behind him, the stone angel watched, distant and ethereal. Her grey hands were clasped in front of her and she stared ahead through unblinking marble eyes. A first drop of rain fell, landing on her cheek and slowly rolling down her face like an unseen tear.

_Marianne Emma Venturi_

_2000-2008_

_Beloved Daughter and Sister_

"_Forever Young."_

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This made me so sad. I love marti. RIP, (

Anyway, I need ideas for more of these ficlets. Or a full length story. I want to write one, but I don't know what to write about. It's not like we need another generic Dasey fic. Ideas?

Review!

--JR


	6. The Thing with Feathers

Parts, by JACmRob

**The Thing with Feathers**

He'd never understood metaphors. Their assignment was to write at least a page on the meaning of the poem to them, and all he had come up with was 'I think this poem means…' She had come flouncing down the stairs with her three pages freshly printed, and clearing her throat, began to read: 'Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul. This poem—' He interrupted loudly to ask if everyone had a big fuzzy thing living inside them.

She told him it was symbolic, and that it was no wonder a big dunderhead like him couldn't understand the poetic beauty of the piece.

He retorted that Emily Dickinson was the dunderhead, and that she was obviously saying hope was a bird. However, his father had been a bird enthusiast and he had to say, he'd never seen a Yellow-Bellied Hope fluttering around.

She'd stuck her head up proudly and said that if he had any depth he would see Emily meant that hope can be _compared_ to a little bird that still flies about through the darkest storms.

"Well then why didn't she just say _that_?" he'd countered.

She just sighed, and said Emily was trying to be poetic. Thus the _poem_. For example, she lectured, she didn't often or directly tell him that despite the worse parts of his personality, she still had hope that deep down he was a caring individual who just didn't like to show it.

He said that he still had hope that someday she'd sprout pudgy brown feathers and the Dodo would be back from extinction. And that _wasn't_ a metaphor, he'd added as an after thought.

She'd stomped up to her room and refused to speak to him for the rest of the night, even after he'd pulled her hair when she was brushing her teeth and said that being flightless didn't necessarily mean graceless. Though, in her case, it probably did.

Then she'd screamed that he was a jerk and had to ruin everything for her, and wished he'd never speak to her again.

The next day, he'd stood up in English to deliver his paper.

"I think it's good that hope is always perched with us," he finished, "Because with the worst we do, we need to have hope that we'll be forgiven. And if hope flew away we'd probably just be jerks for the rest of our lives. Sometimes we are anyway, but at least hope lets us know that we don't always have to be."

She'd come up to him after and said that she was sorry for calling him shallow and that his paper was really good.

He only rolled his eyes and told her metaphors were still stupid, and that he had a bird-watching group coming to see her on Thursday. She hit him on the arm and walked away.

"Casey is the thing with feathers, that perches at the zoo..."

But, even she couldn't hide that she was smiling when he followed her around making bird noises. She crossed her arms across her chest and, trying not to let out a choked-back giggle, called him a dunderhead. He just asked if that was a metaphor, too.

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A/N: Hmmm... this came to me while I was in the shower. I don't really know how or why. Give me your thoughts.


	7. Lucky

Parts, By JACmRob

**Lucky**

The second she heard it on the news she called her dad, and started sobbing when she found him safe.

They all sat silently in the family room, glued to the television. No one could think of anything to lighten the atmosphere. She hated seeing the instant replay, again and again… Her father could have been there when it happened. She didn't know whether to feel giddy relief or unburdened distress. Maybe she was selfish. Edwin got up and left the room.

Even Derek was strangely quiet.

"It's weird," he told her, "I mean, it wasn't us, but…" He trailed off. She knew what he meant. It was close to home.

Marti didn't understand. She thought it was an accident. No one had the heart to correct her.

Mom and George were talking softly in the kitchen. She knew her mother was more shaken than she was willing to let George know. She'd always been afraid of flying.

When she found Lizzie sniffling quietly in the bathroom, she couldn't think of anything to say.

"He worked there," Lizzie whispered, "It's just stupid luck that he went out for lunch. You can't live on stupid luck…"

She stayed silent.

An entire nation had been shaken to its core. Should she be happy it wasn't theirs? Families had been torn apart. Her own had come so close. Too close. Should she be happy that it wasn't?

She didn't know whether to be thankful or cynical. Fortune was random.

When they sat down for dinner that night and began eating in a subdued way, she looked around at them all and chose thankful.

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A/N: Casey's perspective on 911 and how it affected them. Everyone pick up on that? I don't actually know if her dad worked in the World Trade Center, though.

Reviews!

--JR


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